Thawing Out
by HashtagLEH
Summary: It was when he was reading again that Steve heard the change in Bucky's breathing, a change more noticeable than any past times that he hadn't been sure were in his imagination or not. This time, he knew, without a doubt, that Bucky was waking up. (Part 2 of Not Without You)


**I know that comics say that Bucky was born in 1917 and Steve in 1918, but I'm bumping both of them to 1920 because reasons.**

 **…**

It took another four days before Bucky finally woke up.

Steve had been in the same room the entire time, sitting next to him in the chair next to the bed provided. Steve had been able to convince SHIELD to get rid of the fraud set up to make the room look like the forties, because Bucky would be just as tense if he woke up to discover the same things that Steve had. Phil Coulson – the man who had stopped him on the street in his mad dash from the facility – had been the one able to make it happen, and because he was apparently a Captain America fan and the assistant director, people believed him and followed his orders.

Steve didn't bother trying to hide what time period they were a part of now – Bucky was much like him in that he preferred things straightforward with no need to wade through any bullshitting before getting to the truth. So Steve wore clothes made of fabric that didn't exist in the forties – jeans and a cotton t-shirt and a brown leather jacket that looked like it was supposed to be reminiscent of the forties but with a flair of modern to it. He couldn't help repeatedly tugging at the elastic cuffs, because while elastic had existed in his time, it wasn't artificial like this and didn't stretch as well.

After some time, the agents seemed to realize that he wasn't leaving Bucky alone for _anything_ , and people began bringing him food at regular intervals. Coulson came in sometimes to talk, and while it was a bit awkward the first couple of times, the man gradually began to relax around him. He was still a bit wound up, but Steve suspected that it had more to do with trying to remain professional in his work environment than anything else. Coulson gave him a couple of books and pictures and files to illustrate the highlights of the decades he'd been under the ice, and Steve examined them with a focus not unlike when he was making plans during the war. But he was always aware of Bucky, looking up whenever there was the slightest change in his breathing, or even just to check and make sure he was still there, and that this wasn't just a dream.

He couldn't help resting his hand on his arm several times an hour, and while Steve recognized that it might make the agents suspicious as to the nature of their relationship, he couldn't bring himself to care. He had to make sure that Bucky was alright, and the constant contact soothed him, reminded him that they were both still, impossibly, alive.

It was when he was reading again about Martin Luther King Jr. that he heard the change in Bucky's breathing, a change more noticeable than any past times that he hadn't been sure were in his imagination or not. This time, he _knew_ , without a doubt, that Bucky was waking up.

He set the book aside on the bedside table, leaning forward and taking one of Bucky's hands in his.

"Bucky?" he prodded quietly. "You with me, buddy?"

Bucky woke up more groggily than Steve had, but when his blue eyes landed on Steve's, it took a bare instant for recognition to fill their depths. His grip in Steve's hand was tired, but he still mustered up the energy to give him a weak squeeze.

"Punk," he muttered.

A relieved laugh expelled from Steve's gut. "Jerk," he shot back.

"We die?" Bucky questioned blearily.

"No, we…" Steve's throat was tight with anxiety as he remembered where they were – _when_ they were. "We fell asleep. I guess."

"You 'guess'?" Bucky repeated, sounding marginally more awake as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. "Wha's _that_ s'posed t' mean?"

"The ice – it kept us alive," Steve explained. "The SSR – now called SHIELD – found us and, well…thawed us out."

Bucky barked one of his familiar laughs. "'Thawed us out'?" he said with a disbelieving shake of his head. "How's that e'en possible?" He glanced around the room they were in, at the features he didn't recognize. "And what… We in a comic book?"

"May as well be," Steve said dryly. "You want me to help you sit up?" He'd noticed how antsy Bucky seemed to be, but still a bit too groggy and weak to sit up on his own.

"Yeah," Bucky breathed, and groaned when Steve pulled him up into a sitting position. "I feel like an old man, all achy an' stiff."

"Well, you technically are," Steve smirked. "Congrats, grandpa. Today you turn 92."

Bucky gave the blond a flat look. "You're shitting me."

Steve shook his head with a grin. "Nope. We spent a few decades in the ice, and…" His face shifted slightly, more pensive for a moment before it was wiped clean as he continued, "A lot has happened since then."

Bucky hated to see his friend troubled, and was sure to keep his voice light. "Well, you'll be turning 92 in four months then, so you're a grandpa now, too."

"Hm," Steve hummed, mood lightening with their familiar banter. "And I look _damn_ good for going on 92."

" _Yes_ , you do," Bucky said, voice practically a purr as his eyes went up and down his lover's body.

Steve shifted, reminded of some of the changes that had happened in the past couple of decades. He pulled his hand from Bucky's, leaning back slightly so that he wasn't quite so suspiciously close to the other man, and said in a casual voice, "There have been a _lot_ of changes. One of the weirdest – you know the cameras they use for movies, that can make the pictures move?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly, wondering where the blond was going with this and just wanting to kiss his lover since no one was around and it was safe, and he didn't know how long it would stay that way. "Yeah," he replied.

"Those cameras are _everywhere_ now," Steve said with wide eyes. He pointed into one of the corners. "See? That's one of them."

"It's so small, though," Bucky said confusedly, examining the unassuming black cube. "How can it take the pictures of anything?"

Steve shrugged. "They figured out a lot of technology – lots of stuff is smaller. Those computers that the military was making? The ones that filled whole rooms? You can hold one in your pocket now, and they're even better. Anyway – these sorts of cameras are everywhere, so they can watch everyone all the time. It all gets taped and put in their records in case they have to go look at it again later."

Bucky's eyes widened with understanding of what Steve was getting at – they would be watched _everywhere_. "Why would they _want_ to see all of that?"

Steve shrugged again, eyes relieved when he saw that Bucky understood. "I dunno. The agents say that it's for security purposes, which I suppose makes sense. Still seems like a bit of a violation, though."

"Damn right it does," Bucky growled, clenching his hands into weak fists. He looked down at his hands, wondering how long it would take the fatigue to leave his body, especially as Steve appeared not to be bearing the same effects. Which reminded him…

"How long have you been awake?" He asked curiously.

"A few days," Steve admitted, before seeing Bucky's fists and understanding what he was thinking. "I don't know how long it will take you to get back to full strength, though. I was fine as soon as I woke up – went running out the building with you in my arms and agents chasing after me not five minutes after I woke up."

Bucky groaned and leaned his head against the wall behind him. "Damn super soldier serum, makin' it unfair for the rest 'f us," he muttered. Steve quirked a smile in response, but had no time to say anything as Bucky looked over at him again with a confused expression on his face.

"So, I'm guessing the serum is what kept _you_ alive while you were frozen through," he said with a small frown, "But how am _I_ still alive?"

"Right," Steve said, blowing out a breath as he remembered Coulson's words a couple of days before. Bucky was _not_ going to be happy, but it wasn't like he could exactly keep it a secret. Bucky would find out eventually – might as well ease the hurt a bit by being the one to explain it to him.

"There's an agent here," he said, denying to himself that he was stalling a bit and that explaining the hows of the theory being produced was absolutely necessary. "Well, he's the assistant director of SHIELD, so I'm not sure if he's really considered an agent, but…well. Oh – SHIELD used to be the SSR…"

"You already said that," Bucky said, narrowed eyes telling the blond that he knew exactly what Steve was doing.

"Right," Steve nodded. "Anyway, this agent – his name is Coulson, real swell guy; you'd like him, I think. Straightforward. He's been a fan of Captain America since he was a kid – his dad was in the 107th, you know, so it makes sense. You remember Bobby? He was pretty quiet, you know, but he made really good cornbread…"

"Steve," Bucky cut him off. "Just tell me what the hell you know."

"Well, Coulson – he's been reading about Captain America and everything that went along with that since he was a kid, so he had this theory." Steve said, and then paused before finally deciding to just say it. "Um…Zola?"

Bucky's expression went flat, blank, only his eyes betraying his realization and remembered horror that went along with that name.

"Azzano," he said stonily.

Steve was silent, nodding once.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Bucky cursed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I knew it was weird when I didn't get any serious wounds after the fall from the train, but I assumed it was because you'd broken my fall and took it all instead." He looked back up at Steve. "Speaking of, how's your spine?"

"Good as new," Steve assured him. "Healed the rest of the way during my thawing out. Not that I needed much more healing, but it doesn't ache anymore and I can feel my toes."

"Good," Bucky said darkly. "Don't think I've forgotten about it either, punk. You ever scare me like that again…"

Steve sighed. "I _know_ ," he cut him off. "I lost my grip on the railing."

Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything. Both of them knew that Steve had let go, but it wasn't something that they had ever really acknowledged. Not when they were in their right minds, anyway.

"So," Bucky said after a long pause. "What's a man gotta do to get some grub around here?"

Steve laughed, the familiarity of the question making his heart hurt for a moment with longing. Bucky had always thought with his stomach, and at least _that_ was something that hadn't changed. He could see some good changes that had occurred in the past few decades, but still it made his brain spin with how _new_ everything was. Bucky's question reminded him of the day they had come back to camp after Azzano, and Bucky had asked that very question. He remembered the soon-to-be Howling Commandos who had stood around them, who had later made it tradition that _someone_ would ask that question after a mission to take out Hydra bases had been completed. The same question asked now sent him spinning back to those days, with the camaraderie of the Howling Commandos, the sense of belonging those days had given him.

But…

He looked at Bucky, and some of that pain faded to be replaced with relief and contentment. He still had Bucky. Even if Morita and Dum Dum and all the rest of the Commandos were gone, he still had his best friend with him. He wasn't alone or lost in this new time – as long as he had Bucky, he would be alright. They would _both_ be alright.

 **...**

 **Thanks for reading! If you want to see a specific scene in this 'verse, let me know! I have a few ideas of my own, but I'm always open to suggestions! :)**


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